So I started last year with the best intentions, write more eat better drink more water. I failed on every count. Every single one. The only thing I did not fail to do is – no, strike that, I sucked at that too. So yeah, no. I did not accomplish any of the higher than high truer than true ideals I set out for myself at the start of 2012.

It seemed like it couldn’t go wrong. I mean, we had 12/12/12. We had 10/11/12. All the number were aligned. The Mayans were wrong. We survived.

Didn’t we?

Well, luckily for us we are still here. And while last year was a horrifyingly frightening mess I am still intending to write more, eat better, drink more water. If I stop intending to do these things the number on the calender will have won. And that can’t happen. I can’t let that happen.

I spent a good portion of the close of the year with some serious introspection. Not the ‘how deep is your love’ kind, but the kind where you say to yourself I really am good at X and I am really bad at Y and how do I fix that? The kind where you say what were the things I could have done better this year, where did it get out of hand, and what were the things that I blamed myself for that were simply out of my control.

I wrote lots of posts about losing my ability to write. I felt I had to write something and what I should have done is simply just write. Not for you, my friends, but for myself. Just a jumbled mess of words that maybe made no sense and were not fit for human consumption. But, I didn’t even do that. I am going to do that now.

I have lived a life that is a platitude – I have not ever cared what anyone thought about me. But you know what happens when you do that? You do ┬ánot spend much time thinking about how what you do affects other people. So committed to the act of ‘being yourself’ and ‘speaking your mind’ that you cannot fathom that yourself and your mind might be harmful to others. ┬áThis is the stuff that can leave you breathless when you finally wake up from your long winter’s nap and realize it.

This post is personal and yet vague at the same time. Years ago I wrote about the conception of my children, the struggle that was and the pain I felt. I don’t regret it but now I don’t feel that being that vulnerable in public is a good thing. And yet, dear readers, I want to try to be honest with you again because it was the fear of the honesty that kept me at bay. For the first time in my life I cared what you thought about me and I was not able to reconcile that with the notguilty you all had come to expect.

I have had a good amount of time now to find some sort of balance, to care about what impact my words, ideas and thoughts have while still saying them and being honest and true. I am 41 years old and I am just now figuring these things out.

So, I make no promises of weekly posts. I will write more (but maybe you won’t get to read it) eat better and drink more water.

Happy New Year, folks.